


Snakes and Lattes

by Padfoots_Pawprint



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is a snake for nearly the entire fic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, No boardgames involed, Snake!Crowley - Freeform, based on a tik tok, no lattes either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21689182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Padfoots_Pawprint/pseuds/Padfoots_Pawprint
Summary: An average Sunday is made not-as-average when Aziraphale, relaxing in a quaint cafe, is suddenly confronted with the fact that there is a snake in his bag.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 354





	Snakes and Lattes

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this tik tok: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ACyLYQaB1Ao

He was only supposed to slip out for a moment. A moment to an angel can be anywhere from one minute to one hundred years, but in Aziraphale’s particular case, he meant a good portion of the day. There was to be a library visit involved, as well as a new bakery in London that was already known for its cinnamon rolls, and Crowley had already indicated that he wanted no part in either matter. No, the demon had promised to sleep the day away in exchange for another dinner out and more drinking, and he had proposed this exchange only the night before with the firm resolution of a drunk man at three in the morning.

Aziraphale, in turn, had offered Crowley the sofa before going upstairs to make fresh cocoa, and by the time he came back downstairs, Crowley had gone home, leaving no trace of himself save an empty wine glass. Aziraphale hadn't thought about it much and had finished rereading his favourite book of poetry by the time the sun rose.

(Not thinking much about it. That was his first mistake.)

His whole morning had passed in blissful ignorance as he returned old books, obtained new ones, and relished in the warmth of fresh cinnamon rolls. He'd only realized his folly when he stopped at a cafe on his way home for some tea. He was sitting at his own table, a cup to his left and a newly borrowed book in his right. Despite having had multiple pastries just hours earlier, he couldn’t resist the urge for some afternoon tea before returning to his empty bookshop.

Only two chapters had gone by when somebody let out a scream. It was a wild, horrified, frightened scream, the sort that had Aziraphale jumping in his seat, snapping his book shut and looking around for the source of the commotion. To his dismay, there were people scrambling up out of their chairs and gawking at him, as if he was the unfortunate child who hadn't been able to stop from relieving himself in a public pool.

"Oh my God," one woman gasped, which Aziraphale found quite rude because She was in no way interested in the afternoon tea of an angel on a Saturday, and he was certain that She wouldn't have appreciated the frivolous use of one of her many names being used. He hadn't done anything out of the ordinary at all!

"It's quite alright, everyone," began Aziraphale calmly, still confused as to what could be the problem. Was there something on him? A spider or wasp perhaps? Humans were very particular about their relationship with insects of all kinds. However, a quick scan of his table revealed that there was nothing out of place at all. His tea, book, and biscuit were exactly as they were.

Somebody else screamed, and Aziraphale met the woman with a confused look. "Whatever is the matter?"

She pointed at him wildly. "You brought a _snake_ to the cafe!"

Aziraphale spluttered and was just about to tell her off when he realized she was pointing past him to his book bag. The bag he had placed in the chair opposite him. The same bag that he could see the tell-tale sheen of scales peeking out of the top. "Oh my."

He calmly reached over to his bag and pulled it onto the table. When Aziraphale removed his hand from its rummaging in the bag, he found the familiar form of a long, black snake in his grasp. The screaming increased dramatically, but Aziraphale paid it no heed. He raised Crowley's scaly body upwards. "How did you get in there?" He said softly, pleased to see his old friend and unsure when he might've gotten the chance to slip into the book bag. Crowley’s golden eyes stared back at him. He offered no response and merely curled further up Aziraphale's arm, clearly enjoying the attention he was receiving from the extremely distressed public around him. The angel almost thought he could hear his friend's hiss of laughter as Crowley wound himself around Aziraphale's bicep.

"You could have just said you wanted to come along," he offered, knowing that his afternoon tea would have to be stopped for now. He gathered up his bag and slipped his book in, took one forlorn look at the remnants of his tea time, and stepped away from the table.

Then, more loudly, "So sorry, good people," said Aziraphale, meeting the gaze of a handful of awestruck bystanders. "Don't know how he got there, the wily old thing. It won't happen again, I assure you."

Once the angel was back on the street, the gawking did not stop. Aziraphale gently asked Crowley to return to his hiding spot in the bag, but the demon refused. While the squeezing of Aziraphale’s arm was not the most comfortable, it did bring him back to some simpler times (read: any time Crowley had grown too tired of walking and had begged Aziraphale to carry him when they travelled in the cold, northern areas of Russia or Canada. This had only happened a handful of times and had stopped promptly when Crowley and access to his own vehicle; his Bentley, to be precise).

“Come, my dear, don’t be so difficult.” Crowley wrapped himself more tightly around his new steed, and Aziraphale sighed.

“I live to be more difficult, _Zzz_ ira,” hissed Crowly, “and you’re wonderfully warm.”

“Of course I am,” murmured the angel, growing far too comfortable with the compliment and familiarity. He caved to the demon’s unspoken request, and Aziraphale led them through the streets. He brushed off all curious eyes that watched him pass by with a snake around his arm and unlocked his bookshop.

Stepping into the shop filled him with an immediate sense of peace. He never felt watched in his shop, even though he knew that She was all-knowing and all-seeing. The shop still managed to feel private, a haven where the two of them could be more of themselves than ever. Aziraphale didn’t have to be a perfectly righteous angel and Crowley didn’t have to be a perfectly wicked demon. They could be as they were as much as they wanted, now more so than ever. Nobody was coming to check on them. The ‘closed’ sign still hung in the shop window. They could be alone together without pretenses.

He knew that Crowley must have been feeling somewhat similarly, because Aziraphale could feel Crowley uncoiling when the door was locked behind them. 

Aziraphale walked them over to the backroom of the shop where he kept his alcohol and most comfortable cushions, and settled into the seat Crowley had previously occupied just last night. The snake, treacherous thing that he was, had not bothered to spool himself next to Aziraphale on the sofa. It didn’t look like Crowley was going to bother moving much at all, much preferring to snuggle up to Aziraphale as a snake and never let go. They sat together for a couple of moments under the sunlight that bathed Aziraphale’s sofa in a pleasant warmth. “Perhaps,” began Aziraphale after a moment, “you would permit me to return to the kitchen for some new tea? I can make you some as well, if you’d like.”

“No.”

“No tea?”

“Not without me,” murmured the snake instead.

“You’re being awfully clingy today, my dear,” said Aziraphale, both puzzled and endeared by it. “I thought you didn’t want to go out with me today.”

“‘Course not.”

“Well then?”

Crowley angled his head to rest just behind Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Just because I didn’t want to go out doesn’t mean I want to be by myself.”

Azirpahale blinked in surprise and tried to catch the yellow of Crowley’s eyes by shifting his shoulder forward awkwardly. He only managed to get the curve of his dear friend’s head. “Were you _l_ _onely_?”

“Cut the crap, angel. I thought it would be fun to secretly hide out in your bag when I was shit-faced last night. Planned to sleep the day away and wait for the right moment to jump out and frighten someone, as demons do. Wreak a bit of havoc, scare some humans. The usual.”

The angel decided not to mention that Crowley hadn't done much jumping. He'd simply been spotted in Aziraphale's open bag. There didn't seem like much of a scare tactic. “So that’s why you didn’t say goodbye last night,” mused Aziraphale. “I was rather surprised that you left without saying something. You hadn’t done that in-, well, in a rather long time.”

Judging from the silence that followed this observation, Azirphale could guess that Crowley was feeling a little bit guilty.

“‘M not apologizing,” declared Crowley, and Azirpahle just nodded, raising a hand to his right arm and gently running his fingers over Crowley’s scales.

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

“Good.”

“I hope you don’t consider that going out, though,” said Aziraphale. “You promised me an evening, Crowley.”

“And an evening you shall have,” said Crowley, “ _after_ I finish my nap. It is your fault I never got to finish it.”

“ _You_ were the one that decided to surprise me and the public by hiding away in my bag. I didn’t even realize you were in there when I left the shop.”

“Demons know how to hide their auras and all. It’s a skill.”

“Indeed. One that you have long since perfected.”

Crowley gave his arm a squeeze and shifted positions so that his tiny head was resting on Aziraphale’s shoulder. He settled into the spot, his tail wrapped around Aziraphale’s bare wrist as if to feel his pulse. “Go get your tea.”

“Are you sure you’re quite comfortable?”

“Perfectly.”

“I can’t bring myself to move, it seems,” said Aziraphale gently. He carefully removed his shoes and lay across the sofa, trying not to jostle Crowley too much as he did so, but it didn’t do too much. Crowley was already moving, unravelling around Aziraphale’s arm and taking up a spot on his chest instead. He was literally snaking his way under Aziraphale’s clothes, clinging to the warmth he was finding there. Crowley pushed himself past the waistcoat buttons and tried to burrow beneath the fabric. “Perhaps you would prefer a blanket?”

“This is fine.”

“Oh is it?”

Crowley rose up and curved over Aziraphale’s face and hissed at him. The angel went a little cross-eyed. “Don’t patronize me, angel.”

“Take your nap, my dear.” Aziraphale leaned up just so to pressed a small kiss to the snake’s snout. “I’ll wake you when our reservation is ready.”

“Reservation,” scoffed Crowley, and he quickly ducked his head down and slipped under Aziraphale’s collar, resting just at the dip of his collarbone. “We don’t make reservations.”

“We might have. This time.”

“Bullshit,” called Crowley, too embarrassed to fight Aziraphale who could feel the hiss of the words along his skin. Aziraphale shivered a little, pleased that he was able to reduce one of the greatest demons he’d ever known to his most vulnerable state just by showing a little more affection. He’d have to do it more often, the angel resolved, if it was prone to get him what he wanted. Aziraphale hummed a little to himself and shut his eyes. He didn’t sleep often, had only taken to it because Crowley insisted on him to keep him warm at night and Aziraphale could not help but oblige. 

“Sleep. May you have a lovely dream about whatever you like best,” said Aziraphale. It was an echo to another time, perhaps, but Aziraphale meant the words with markedly more sincerity. For his part, Aziraphale took a slow inhale and allowed himself a moment to meditate. He doubted he’d sleep. He liked to save all his exhaustion and sleepiness for when he and Crowley could lay side by side in bed and dream aimlessly. But a chance to let his brain rest and his corporeal body to relax in the afternoon sun seemed like a splendid way to pass the time on this particular Sunday.

“ _Sss_ ee you there,” slurred Crowley, before drifting off completely.

They lay together in the quiet of Aziraphale’s closed bookshop for what could have been forever but was really just two hours. And if Aziraphale woke up to find a very human Crowley sound asleep on his chest, drooling and draped bodily over his angel, he was wise enough not to say anything at all and slip his eyes shut again. Dinner could wait. This was a moment he was not going to pass up.


End file.
